Kingsbane: A Soul Stones Story Read online

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © T.L. Branson 2017

  The right of T.L. Branson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be edited, transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), or reproduced in any manner without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews or articles. It may not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s permission. Permission can be obtained through www.tlbranson.com

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Certain events may have been adapted from history, but do not contain any real details.

  1st Edition 2017

  Published by T.L. Branson

  Cover Design by Guilherme Batista

  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  BOOKS AND STORIES BY T.L. BRANSON

  WANT MORE SOUL STONES?

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  ENJOYED KINGSBANE?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  SNEAK PEEK

  BOOKS AND STORIES BY T.L. BRANSON

  SHORT STORIES

  Midnight Blade

  Kingsbane

  Ash and Steel

  NOVELS

  Soul Siphon (Spring 2018)

  Soul Render (Spring 2018)

  WANT MORE SOUL STONES?

  This novella is inspired by the world and characters of my upcoming novel, Soul Render. Continue the story by reading Ash and Steel. You can get it FREE here.

  CHAPTER 1

  Life was a blessing and curse. Life brought with it such joy, warmth, and love. But it also brought hardship, pain, and suffering. Life was filled with struggle and strife. Kingdoms waged constant wars. Friends turned to bitter enemies. Strangers thieved and murdered for the pettiest of reasons.

  Indeed, death could be a great gift. Pain and sorrow filled the hearts of those left behind, but to the departed? Rest, peace, and a solace from the torrent of troubles that plagued the world.

  Peace sounded wonderful to Ocken.

  The palace bustled with rabid ferocity. Shouts rose up all around him as he ran. He had to get to the healers, and fast.

  A servant ran out into the hallway and collided with him. The young woman bounced off of him, landing hard on the marble floors. Ocken plowed through, not even slowing his pace to apologize.

  He was a beast of a man. Six foot six and all muscle. It was in his blood. The Khur were not a dainty folk. It was one of the reasons why he had been accepted to the king’s royal guard. Enemies thought twice about crossing a man like Ocken.

  He stormed through the palace doors and out into the courtyard. The moon hung high in the dark of night.

  Why did every crisis have to happen at night?

  He hated the night. The Khur tribe lived in the harsh climates of the desert. The night was a time to be feared. Temperatures plummeted and all manner of creatures emerged from their holes. His mother brought him and his brother, Thren, to Sunbury after their father died by the jaws of the vicious kranack.

  Ocken shrugged off the painful memory and set his mind to the task at hand. The healers. He had to retrieve the healers.

  Exiting the gates to the palace grounds, he wound his way through city streets and alleys. Firelight from the lamps flickered off the battered walls and stone paths beneath his feet. The thunderous beating of his boots and the deep heaving of his own breath drowned out the usual sounds of wagons being pulled along the bumpy street at the day’s end or children playing in their homes before bed.

  When he arrived at the healers’ home he didn’t bother knocking and barged right in. An old man, Alijah, bolted upright from his seat at a small table, spilling soup all over himself, the table, and the floor.

  “What is the meaning of—?”

  “No time,” Ocken said. “The queen needs you. Now!”

  The creases of anger drained from his face, replaced with shock and concern.

  “What’s wrong?” Alijah asked as he gathered his cloak from a nearby rack and flung it onto his back.

  “I don’t know, she just collapsed,” Ocken replied.

  The old man grabbed his bag of medicines and followed Ocken out the door.

  Ocken raced to the end of the street and made to turn down an alley when he noticed the healer had fallen behind. Alijah hobbled down the path at a snail’s pace, both from the weight of the bag and his aging bones.

  Ocken returned to Alijah and heaved the healer up onto his shoulders.

  “Whoa,” Alijah said in surprise, clutching the bag to his chest as he bounced in the air.

  Ocken’s return to the palace was not as swift as his exit. With each passing second the queen’s survival hung in the balance. He hoped they were not already too late. Two guards swung open the palace doors to admit the duo. The shouts in the palace had ceased as the shock of the crisis faded away, but it was no less busy.

  “Get out of the way,” Ocken shouted, shoving aside a footman carrying tea. The platter clanged as it hit the floor followed by the shattering of the kettle, its contents spilling everywhere. Ocken wasn’t sorry. Many things may lie damaged in his path this night, but his queen would not be one of them.

  Another guard opened the door to the queen’s private quarters and all eyes turned to him as he entered.

  “Thank the gods,” Alexander Drygo, king of Sunbury, said in relief.

  The grand marshal of the royal guard, Davion Callum, stood at Ocken’s side a second later, helping him lower the healer onto the ground. Alijah teetered off balance as he regained his footing.

  The queen, Evangeline, lay quiet and still in her bed. Blood coated the sheets. Sweat ran down her brow.

  Alijah laid his hand on her forehead. Ocken, Drygo, Callum, and Callum’s wife, Chelsea, craned their necks to watch the healer. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and wiped her brow. When he turned to open his bag, he found four sets of eyes staring back at him.

  “Out,” he said, waving his hands. “Give us some space.”

  Callum looked to Drygo, who nodded.

  Ocken, Callum, and Chelsea left the room, closing the door behind them.

  “What happened after I left?” Ocken asked.

  “Not much that you can’t surmise for yourself,” Callum replied.

  “Any idea what caused it?” he pressed.

  “None,” the grand marshal said, rubbing his face.

  Ocken looked to Chelsea. She had a curious expression on her face. Like she might know the answer, but didn’t want to share it.

  Callum caught Ocken’s stare and turned to look at his wife.

  Her face turned red under the scrutiny.

  “Do you know something?” Callum asked.

  “I…”

  “Well?” Callum urged.

  “She made me promise not to tell,” Chelsea said, bringing a hand to her face as if breaking eye contact made it easier for her to cope with her deception.

  “Made you promise not to tell what?”

  Chelsea did not respond.

  “Chelsea,” Callum said, his voice growing stern.

  The door to the queen’s quarters opened, sparing her from answering. Alijah emerged, his face downcast. Callum’s eyes grew wide.

  “Oh!” Alijah said, realizing what they had assumed. “She is q
uite all right. I’ve given her some medication for the pain and to reduce the fever, and she’s going to need a day or two of rest, but I… Well, it’s best if the king tells you.”

  Drygo emerged a moment later, his face a mask of confusion and sadness.

  “She was pregnant,” the king said, his eyes wide and mouth agape. “She’s had a miscarriage.”

  ***

  “The state of our economy is at an all time high,” the commerce advisor droned. “Our fishing vessels are bringing in more produce this season than we’ve seen in a long time, the miners have uncovered a new pocket of silver beneath the escarpment, and trade with the Northern Isles continues to flourish.”

  Ocken stood silently at his post by the door to the council chambers. Eight men and four women were in attendance. The queen’s chair sat empty beside the king.

  “What about Havan?” shouted the advisor of foreign affairs, a man named Stratton. “Our trade with our closest neighbor has decreased dramatically in the last two years. How can you offer praise when we hang on the edge of economic collapse? They claim they no longer have confidence in our leadership after we failed to uncover the source of the attack that left our poor Alexander without a father and our country without a proper king.”

  Everyone in the room audibly gasped and all eyes turned to Drygo, expecting a swift rebuke. Instead, he sat slumped in his chair at the head of the table, his chin resting in his palm. His eyes stared off into the distance. The silence shaking him from his daze, the king blinked and sat up straight.

  “That’s out of line, Counselor Stratton,” Callum barked. He looked to the king and back to the counsel, unease growing steadily on his face. “Dismissed!”

  A low rumble filled the room as private conversations erupted. Chairs groaned as they were pushed away from the table. The men and women rose and exited the council chambers. All except for the king, Callum, Ocken, and another of the king’s royal guard, a man named Geoffreys.

  “Are you all right, sire?” Callum asked the king.

  “Of course I’m all right,” Drygo blustered, his eyes shifting to Ocken and Geoffreys. Callum caught the movement.

  “You can wait outside, men,” Callum said. “Thank you.”

  Ocken and Geoffreys stepped outside and shut the door. Despite the solid oak door that stood between them, it did little to mute the conversation.

  “What does it matter if I’m distracted?” Drygo said. “I’m the king for Iket’s sake.”

  “What does it matter?” Callum parroted. “What do you mean ‘what does it matter?’ The man just called you a weak king and wished your father were still here and you ignored him.”

  “Perhaps he’s right,” Drygo replied. “Perhaps you’d all be better off with my father.”

  Geoffreys shifted uneasily beside Ocken.

  “Your father is dead! You are the king,” Callum said, then he sighed. “Where is this coming from? You put an end to the uprising. You secured the trade deal with Kent. You found the blasted pocket of silver while inspecting the mines. By the gods, the only thing you aren’t responsible for is the fish. Sunbury owes every bit of its successes to you. Stratton has no right pinning Havan on you. Aren’t you upset?”

  “Of course I’m upset,” the king said. “It’s just…”

  “It’s just what?”

  There was a pause.

  “It’s been a week and Evangeline’s situation has not improved,” the king finally said.

  Ocken closed his eyes and sighed. He remembered standing by helpless as he watched his own mother lie in bed growing worse with each passing day. He felt intense anger at the time. Anger with the gods, anger with life, anger with himself. Now there was only bitter remorse and sympathy for his king.

  “What did Alijah say?” Callum asked.

  “The old fool says she just needs proper rest and she will recover,” Drygo said, scoffing.

  “Perhaps you should seek a second opinion?” Callum responded.

  A moment later the door opened. Callum stood in the doorway. He turned to Geoffreys and said, “Fetch Sophia and bring her to the queen’s chambers.”

  “Sophia?” Drygo said from within the council chambers. “What could my maid possibly do to help?”

  “Just… trust me,” Callum said.

  Ocken followed Drygo and Callum as they left the council chambers, moved down the hall, and ascended a flight of stairs to the personal residences on the third floor of the palace. The party came to a halt outside the queen’s chambers.

  Drygo knocked before cracking the door and peering inside. A moment later, he opened the door wide and walked in. Callum and Ocken followed.

  Evangeline sat upright in her bed, a pail in her lap.

  “How have you been feeling?” the king asked.

  “All right,” she said weakly. “It comes and it goes. I can’t keep any food down and I have an awful headache, but otherwise I’m fine.”

  “Alijah insists you should be getting better.”

  “I am getting better, I—” she leaned over the pail and vomited.

  “That doesn’t look better,” Drygo said, frowning. “At Callum’s behest, I’m getting a second opinion.”

  Callum stood like a statue with his arms crossed in front of him, a smug look on his face. Geoffreys arrived a moment later with Sophia in tow.

  She ran up to the queen’s bedside and began dabbing her head with a rag. “What’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed.

  “Nothing’s wrong… well, nothing serious,” Callum said.

  Ocken could have sworn he heard Callum mutter, “I hope.”

  Sophia visibly relaxed, but she didn’t speak.

  Callum cleared his throat and continued, “I want to know your personal analysis of the queen’s ailments.”

  “I am no healer, sir, I—”

  “Just… humor me,” Callum said, waving his hand toward Evangeline.

  Sophia spoke quietly with Evangeline. Evangeline explained how she felt and her lack of improvement over the past few days.

  “Hmm, I…” Sophia started to say, then she paused, placing her finger over her lips.

  “Yes?” the king asked.

  Callum leaned in a little closer. Ocken stood as a stone sentinel, as a good guard should, but inwardly he leaned, too. He wished to know what illness befell his queen and how he might assist her in any way. He couldn’t bear to lose his queen as he lost his mother. The pain of his mother’s passing was still present within his heart like a dull ache that would never fully pass. No. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—let his queen suffer the same fate.

  “Well,” Sophia said, “only time will tell, but I believe the queen is still with child.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Elation had filled Ocken following Sophia’s announcement. When pressed how that could be, she only guessed that the queen may have been carrying twins before the miscarriage. She couldn’t know for certain, but it’s what they all chose to believe.

  Ocken was especially glad to see Drygo back in action. There was a spring in his step as he returned to his normal duties, his focus back on running the kingdom. After all, the king—or the crown prince, as he was at the time—was the only reason Ocken stood as a member of the royal guard today.

  Forced onto the streets following his mother’s death, he and his brother, Thren, had resorted to thievery. A young and unsuspecting Ocken reached into the pocket of the crown prince, but the prince caught him. Instead of turning him over to the guards to have his hand taken from him, the prince offered to put Ocken’s hands to better use as a swordsman.

  Ocken still didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand why a young prince would take an interest in a street rat like him, but that’s just who Alexander Drygo was. He genuinely cared about his people. When he found out about Ocken’s mother, he offered the same deal to Thren.

  Following the king’s death and Alexander’s ascension to the throne, Drygo appointed Ocken to his personal guard while Thren continued on in the
regular regiment. Thren was out on assignment now, stationed nor’east of Sunbury at the Eastgate on the western side of the Frostpeak Mountains.

  Ocken never understood why they had an outpost way out there. Few people lived beyond the Frosties, just his own people in the Dhelgur Desert and a few other small lands and villages. But almost exclusively, those peoples traveled west of the Frosties by boat.

  Between the Frosties and the lands of Eastern Aralith lay a forest.

  No one knew its true name. It had faded over the years, replaced with an appropriate moniker: the Wandering Wood. Some say the wood itself wandered, moving about the land, but most people brushed that off as an old wives’ tale. Instead, they believed that those who entered its borders always became lost, wandering its depths until at last death took them.

  Ocken didn’t know what he believed, but at least Thren was safe. He needn’t worry about his little brother so far removed from harm’s way, even if the reason for the outpost was to keep out danger. Danger from what, Ocken couldn’t say. No one in recent history could even recall a time when the Frostpeak Pass had been invaded.

  Thren put up some resistance, but in the end, he could not refuse his king. Ocken knew his brother would come to little harm there, but just to be certain he gave Thren a pendant bearing a carnelian stone that was said to bring good luck. He had it engraved with and old Khurlish says, “Eyes open, ears on the wind.”

  Ocken was thankful the king had granted his request. He had grown quite attached to the king. While they may not be flesh and blood, Ocken viewed Drygo as a shieldbrother—a brother in war, a brother of leather and steel.

  So it was that as the weeks passed and the queen only worsened, the king, too, returned to his worried state. Now, Ocken found himself once again in Evangeline’s chambers listening to another report on the queen’s health.

  Alijah placed his hand upon the queen’s swelling stomach, a frown on his face.

  “The baby appears to be fine,” he announced. “He’s quite active.”